It's Such A Perfect Day (I'm Glad To Spend It With You)
by XSilverLiningsX
Summary: [Modern Superheroes AU, Part 9: Prequel, Short Drabbles] Daily life snippets of a few people living relatively normal, non-superheroic lives in Rocheste City.
1. Chapter 1

"If you start feeling tired again, _please_ just tell your father and take a break from working, alright?"

"Keaghan, I feel fine, really. You don't need to worry so much about me."

"I know, but I just can't help but worry about _you_. I'm going to stop by tonight, after the dinner rush."

"You don't have to come down all this way to—"

"Nonsense. All I need in my life is to see that you're healthy _and_ happy. I'll be over at ten, hopefully a little earlier if I can persuade Gwynn to leave on time."

"She does work very hard, doesn't she? I thought I told you to stop giving her so much work, Keaghan."

"I don't – somehow, she keeps finding work to do. I have to go, my lunch break is almost over. Love you. I'll see you tonight."

"Love you too."

Tieve bit back a sigh as she set down her cellphone and rubbed at her eyes. As of late, she had felt very tired and weary for apparently no reason even with the much lighter workload that her father had put her on.

"Tieve! I know you're not feeling too well right now, but I need a little help with the dishes since Kirstie left for her lunch break!"

"Coming, dad!" Tieve re-tied her apron around her waist and bounded out from the backroom with her usual smile on her face.

Luckily the dishes hadn't piled up _too_ high.

"Hey, Tieve! Good to see you up and about again." Ferghus, the sole cook of _The Inn_ , a bed-and-breakfast attached to a family-owned diner, smiled at Tieve while flipping a pan filled entirely with half-done eggs. The eggs nearly flew off the pan and onto the floor, but the middle-aged man caught it in time. "Oops, my hand slipped."

"Hi, Ferghus!" Tieve chirped as she passed by. Rolling up her sleeves, Tieve determinedly went to work at the pile of dirty dishes and cutlery.


	2. Chapter 2

Meticulously weighing out 10 ounces of magic dust into a protective cloth pouch, Brynn straightened and quickly tied off the pouch to prevent any of the magic from leaking out onto the countertop of his work bench. He put the pouch in a large cardboard box that was filled with various other pouches and boxes of alchemical reagents. With a weary exhale, the man hauled up the heavy box, walked back into the front room of his shop, and set it down in front of his customer.

"That will be $324. I don't accept cash."

"Check's good?"

Brynn refrained from rolling his eyes. "Yes."

A quick scribble and a tear, and a check fluttered onto the countertop. His customer lifted the box underneath his arm as if it was nothing and left without a further word.

"Thank you for your patronage, please come again." Brynn grumbled to no one in particular as he went around the shop displays and carefully inspected each one for tampering, just in case.

A faint but familiar hiss of energy. Brynn turned around.

The door to the backroom of the _Magic Laboratory_ exploded in a plume of colorful fireworks.

An old man's gleeful cackle.

"MASTER! What did you do!"

"I WANT SOME ICED STRAWBERRY BRANDY!"

"It's two in the afternoon!"

"Please?"

"No!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Careful with that!"

"I am! Stop moving the table! I can't get the flowers to sit perfectly!"

" _You_ stop moving the table! Chocolate drizzling might not _look_ as sophisticated compared to your cream flowers, but it's hard to get all the lines parallel and tidy!"

"BOTH OF YOU! Quit your arguing or we'll never finish the cake on time."

Aislinn and Clodagh froze at the commanding aura that Fenella exuded from all the way across the kitchen. Both women chuckled sheepishly and returned to the massive three-tiered red velvet birthday cake they were delicately decorating.

"Sorry Fenella."

"Sorry Fen— _waah_! NOOO!"

Clodagh slipped on a smear of cream on the floor and took an entire bowl of fondant down with her on the way down. The fondant – cream cheese flavored – ended up splattering all over the poor woman.

"That was a pretty hard fall. Are you okay?" Aislinn hurriedly helped Clodagh back up to her feet, her eyes wide in surprise and worry as she wiped off some of the cream that had landed in her hair.

"I'm fine, I'm fine! Fenella, we're gonna have to remake the cream cheese fondant!" Clodagh sighed as she looked down and saw the state of her apron and clothes. "What a waste…"

"Cream cheese fondant's easy to make, it's not a big deal. Let me help." Aislinn fetched the few still-clean and dry dish rags they had in the kitchen. She handed over one to Clodagh.

"Thanks." Clodagh wiped a good swath of cream off her arm. Giving into temptation of the sugary-sweet frosting, she decided to lick some of it off the back of her hands. "Eugh! This isn't fondant!"

"What? Of course it is." Aislinn raised an eyebrow.

"It's salty! Why is it salty?! Taste some of it, I'm not joking!"

Aislinn swiped a finger through the leftover fondant from the bowl and tasted it. Her eyebrows shot up in disgust and confusion. "Maybe you— oh, Goddess! It is salty! What in the world! Fenella! Something's wrong with the cream!"

"There shouldn't be anything wrong with the cream, I made it just this morning." With furrowed eyebrows, Fenella came over with a bowl of half-formed chocolate fondant.

"Did we put salt instead of sugar?" Clodagh scooped a spoonful of the chocolate fondant that Fenella was holding. "Ugh, the same thing's with this one."

"There's no way I'd put salt instead of sugar into the fondant!" Fenella set down the bowl and rushed over to where she'd prepared the fondant. Snatching up the container labelled SUGAR, she poured some of the ingredient into her palm and tasted it. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no…"

Aislinn and Clodagh turned to the three-tiered, half-frosted cake sitting innocently on the counter.

"It's all ruined! We put salt instead of sugar into _everything_!" Fenella turned alarmingly pale and collapsed down onto a stool.

Clodagh looked at the cake with wide and unseeing eyes. "There's no time to make another cake."

Aislinn's gaze flitted from the cake, to the SUGAR container, and then back to the cake. Then, her eyes narrowed and she rushed over to the walk-in pantry reserved especially for the beer and wine that was supposed to be served during tonight's party. Pulling open the door, Aislinn felt her soul temporarily leave her body when instead of shelves filled with wine bottles and beer cases, she was greeted with the sight of a completely **emptied** pantry.

The cake was ruined beyond salvage and all of the alcohol was missing.

There could only be one person responsible for _all_ of this.

* * *

On the access-restricted roof of the Crimson Blade Defense Contractor's Headquarters, Gallagher slammed back another can of beer before tossing it up in the air.

A paintball pellet smashed cleanly through the aluminum can when it reached the apex of its flight before exploding into a cloud of yellow dust.

"5-9, G!"

"Pfft, get good noob! I'm still in the lead!" Gallagher ripped another can of beer off the plastic ring and tossed it over to his best friend. The man caught it and threw the paintball gun over to Gallagher, who caught it with awkwardly with fingers clumsy from inebriation.

The man slammed down the can of beer in three gulps before launching it up as high as he could.

Gallagher aimed and fired—

—straight into the man's unprotected crotch.

Kain went down like a sack of ugly potatoes.

"Fuuuuuuu—"

Gallagher looked at the gun, to his friend, and then back to his gun.

He started laughing.

With how hard he was laughing, Gallagher fell off his chair and onto the floor in an ungracefully drunken slump.

The paintball gun went off again.

"FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCC—"

All former thoughts of laughter flew straight out of his brain. Gallagher curled up in absolute misery as he grabbed at his newly paint-splattered groin.

The two men writhed in pain on the floor like a pair of dying cockroaches.


	4. Chapter 4

_The Bar_ was one of the best hidden and most precious jewels of Rocheste's nightlife. Owned and operated by a former Royal Army Police Captain, the entire establishment was built upon the idea of providing a second home (and unlimited liquor) to those serving within the Royal Army or had retired from it. As such, _The Bar_ was **_the_** hangout spot for soldiers and officers of all ranks looking to unwind in a safe place with close friends that understood exactly what kind of troubles were going on.

Despite how hidden it was, however, sometimes outsiders did manage to find a way into the restaurant-bar. Provided that they didn't make trouble and left the regulars alone, the owner of the bar didn't mind _too_ much whenever such outsiders visited.

On this particular night, this was _not_ the case.

From her position over by the bar counter, Caryl kept a close eye on the rowdy bunch of drunk tourists mucking about in a round table by the door. These particular men had seemed too comfortable setting foot into a place filled to the brim with armed soldiers and police officers, but she had attributed that to the fact that they had been drunk coming in.

The only good thing about them so far was that the drunker they got, the larger the accidental tips were becoming. Caryl didn't mind _too_ much about that.

What Caryl did mind, however, was the constant cat-calling the men were doing to the other servers. The servers – mostly women – generally just ignored their jibes and served them as quickly as possible.

Dolores, a sweet young woman who never said so much as a word against another person and always had a kind smile on her face, had just passed out the most recent round of drinks the men had ordered when one of the drunk men brazenly grabbed her butt with a leer and _squeezed_.

In the time it took for Dolores to open her mouth in squeak in terror, Caryl had already vaulted over the bar counter and basically _ripped_ Dolores away from the man with a snarl.

"Where do _you_ think you _are_?"

"A bar, of fuckin' course. C'mere pretty, we don't bite… much." The drunk man's equally-drunk buddies eyeballed Dolores' chest with nasty smirks.

Almost immediately, every head in the room – male and female – turned to shoot threatening glares at the group of men. Some of them had shifted so that their hands were resting on the holsters of their guns.

"All four of you are going to pay your bill and leave. _Right. **Now**._ " Caryl pushed Dolores in the direction of the kitchen and the girl dashed through the swinging doors in roughly two seconds. Without a single word, a few of the soldiers drinking close to the kitchen got up from their seats and followed Dolores into the kitchen.

"Whod'ya think y'are, f'kin dyke? The man'ger? Pah!" One of the men smirked and burped noisily.

At her sides, Caryl's hands curled into fists as she reigned in the urge to send all four of the drunkards through the wall.

Chairs scraped as a good dozen people got up from their seats. Caryl forced herself to relax and held up her hand calmly. Those dozen people reluctantly sat back down, but their hands were still resting on their holsters.

"As a matter of fact, I am the manager. I'm giving you four one last warning. Pay your bill, leave, and never come back." Caryl folded her arms across her chest.

The four men burst out laughing.

A large shadow cast over Caryl.

"HOO-MANS TROUBLE?"

"Krunk, please **_escort_** these men out through the back. Make sure that they leave money to pay their bill, too."

"CAN DO!"

"Y-you can't force us to do that! We did nuthin' t'you!" One of the men hiccupped nervously as Krunk took a step forward and cracked his knuckles.

Caryl smiled. _It was not a nice smile._

All of the police officers in the bar promptly turned their chairs around.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Pick up the gun!" Gwynn commanded with her hands clasped behind her ramrod-straight back._

 _Cadet Officer Trainee Ellis nervously picked up the pistol in front of him._

 _"No! Hold it with confidence! You are handling live ordinance!"_

 _"Y-yes ma'am!" Ellis jumped and almost dropped the gun. He clumsily corrected his grip._

 _"Safety." Gwynn refused to sigh for the 18th time. His form was… adequate._

 _"Oh, s-sorry ma'am!" Ellis checked the safety and kept his thumb off the trigger._

 _"Legs shoulder-width apart!"_

 _"Yes ma'am!"_

 _"Raise the gun up! No! Your arms are too straight – you'll break them from the recoil! Bend them slightly!"_

 _"Y-yes ma'am!"_

 _"Don't curve your shoulders! Not only are you a Royal Army cadet, you are training to become an officer! Straighten your back! Bear that responsibility with pride!"_

 _"Yes ma'am!"_

"—a'am? Ma'am? **MA'AM!?** "

First Lieutenant of the Royal Police's 6th Precinct Gwynn blinked. The shooting range disappeared and the familiar sight of her sparsely-decorated office greeted her.

"I'm sorry for yelling ma'am, but you weren't responding. Did… did you have another one of your flashbacks?" The precinct's medical examiner, Dr. Blawynn, had a distressed look on her face as she set down a short stack of newer case files onto the already-overflowing desk.

"I'm fine. What is all of that?" Gwynn coughed into her hand and almost poked herself in the eye with the pen that she had forgotten she was holding.

"We've made headway on the unknown electricity-wielding fomor's identity. Sergeant Brakis was insistent on immediately sending up all of the information he had gathered from his informants." The doctor gave Gwynn a look that basically said _that was totally a lie but I'm choosing to ignore your stupidity for now_.

Gwynn's eyebrow quirked slightly. "And you, the only medical examiner within our precinct, felt like playing intern and transporting files?"

"I felt like taking a break from the morgue for a bit. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"Yes, I… no. Honestly, no." Gwynn absently rubbed at the raised scar crossing the back of her hand. "However, there is too much work to be done. Thank you for bringing the files to my desk, doctor. You're dismissed."

"Wait! One more thing." Blawynn glanced at the door, making sure nobody was going to come inside the office, before leaning across the desk so she could whisper quietly. "The Deputy Chief's let it slip to me that he's considering on promoting someone to Captain."

Gwynn's lips flattened into a line. "Is that so."

Blawynn's eyes flickered down to the Lieutenant's hands before sighing and turning to leave the office. Gwynn waited until the door had clicked shut behind the doctor before uncurling her hand from around the pen. Unconsciously, her hand had clenched into a tight fist that cracked the pen and sent ink seeping through her fingers. With a tight frown, Gwynn reached for a tissue to mop up the ink on her fingers and ignored the indelible black splatters that had rendered the document in front of her unreadable.

Gwynn tossed the tissue into the trash basket hidden in the space underneath her desk. She sat back in her chair and turned to look out of the window: clear skies for miles and civilians going about their days without so much as a care for the dangers lurking so close to home.

"Captain… what a joke."


End file.
